The Flaw in the Foster System
by Green Tea Dreams
Summary: On a routine investigation of the murder of a teenage boy, Booth and Brennan stumble upon two young boys hidden in the victim's house - and must find out who they are, what happened to them, and how they can help all the while searching for the murderer. Contains abuse; rating is tentative as of now - some chapters will be 'M' and proper warning will be given within chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: Physical/emotional/sexual abuse. I ask that you do not read if these are offensive/upsetting topics for you.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or any of its characters.**

 **Timeline: AU. Sweets is not dead. Will stick to the main precedents established in the show (accurate through season ten – I have yet to watch S11 or S12,) but Sweets' adoptive parents will have passed away much earlier.**

 **Expected Update Schedule: Once a week at best.**

 **The Flaw in the Foster System**

It was an average – albeit slow – day on the Jeffersonian Institute's forensic platform. Dr. Brennan was identifying a decade-old set of remains from Limbo, Hodgins focusing on his latest invention, Angela painting peacefully in her office, and Agent Booth was nowhere in sight, probably struggling through a stack of paperwork in his office when a set of decomposing remains was wheeled into the lab by Dr. Camille Saroyan and a team of Jeffersonian interns. Immediately, the lab came buzzing alive, and the sounds of Dr. Brennan shouting orders to Wendell and gloves snapping on filled the room.

"Why was I not made aware of the body earlier? You know my disdain for the work of the FBI techs. I've made it very clear I prefer the field work done by myself and my team, Dr. Saroyan," Brennan scolded her superior, rolling her eyes and beginning her examination of the body as Wendell bounded up the stairs to assist her.

"Dr. Brennan, I'd appreciate if you lose the tone. I myself wasn't aware of the body until it arrived at the doors, but it appears to have been decomposing for two to three weeks now," Cam reprimanded her best forensic anthropologist.

"Approximately thirteen to sixteen years old, male, Caucasian, five-foot-eight or so, 135 pounds at first glance," Wendell rattled off his preliminary findings. Angela emerged from her office at the sound of all the commotion, and Booth was promptly called to give him a heads up that they had a case. After Cam took all the tissue samples she would need to run toxicology screens and assess physical damage to the body, particulates were swabbed, and Angela took notes on the tissue markers of the face, Hodgins set to work with his beetles to remove the skin, fat, and muscle within a few hours.

Once the bones were clean, Angela was able to work alone with the boy to put a face on his skull and a name to his face. She determined he was handsome – would likely have grown up to be very attractive – with a strong jaw, big eyes, a pronounced forehead, and just a feeling he had chocolate-brown hair and irises to match. She sighed while looking at his face. He was a sweet-looking, puppy dog-faced kid, who had likely done nothing to deserve what was most probably a violent, terrifying end. The thought of just a baby suffering at the hands of his attacker broke the artist's weary heart and tempted her to just lay her head on her desk and sob, but nevertheless, she ran the sketch through missing person's and found a match for a Chase Gregory, reported missing two and a half weeks ago by his mother. Dental records would later confirm him as the victim, and the purposeful damage to his skeleton would confirm that his case fell under FBI jurisdiction.

"Do we have an ID yet?" Booth called as he strode into the Jeffersonian's lab. "Yes," Angela hollered down from the platform, "Chase Gregory. Fourteen years old, passed away about two weeks ago." Booth sucked in a breath at hearing the age of their latest victim. As far as he was concerned, a teenager was still just a child, and there was something about seeing a little set of remains on the stainless steel examination table that always made his heart catch in his throat. Nevertheless, he swallowed his anger, frustration, and sadness back down and tracked down the address for the boy's family. After instructing Wendell to continue cataloguing the damage found on the skeleton, Bones ambled down the steps to Booth and the pair exited the lab, ready to go inform the family.

"Well, what do we know so far, Bones?" Booth inquired of his wife once the black FBI SUV had roared to life.

"The victim is fourteen-year-old Chase Gregory. Blunt force trauma to the head and the location of the body dump – a shallow grave in the Conway Robinson State Forest in Gainesville, Virginia, stumbled upon by hikers – indicate that this was a murder, and insect activity on the victim confirms that time of death occurred fifteen days ago. A number of defensive wounds can be found on his hands, arms, and feet, but it appears as though cause of death was a blow to the parietal. Cam is still working on the toxicology report," Bones concluded.

It wasn't a very long drive to the boy's home, and by the time Booth had been filled in on what the case consisted of, they were already parking in the house's driveway. It was a nice house – the family clearly wasn't overly wealthy, but certainly the parents had respectable careers. They approached the white, two-story house and knocked on the door, and it swung open to reveal a very exhausted, although pretty, blonde woman with red-rimmed eyes. Those eyes popped open first with confusion when she saw two people she didn't recognize on her doorstep, but then clouded with horror when they introduced themselves as being from the FBI and the Jeffersonian Institute.

"Mrs. Gregory, we're sorry to inform you that the Bureau found your son's remains earlier this morning in a forest. We are so sorry for your loss," Booth announced quietly, turning up his charm and compassion to break some of the worst news she'd likely ever hear. Despite Booth's best efforts to extend their condolences sincerely, the woman broke down instantly, sobbing as she absorbed what she'd just been told.

Brennan, having no time for hysterics but also having empathy as a mother herself, placed a hand on the grieving mother's shoulder and said, "Mrs. Gregory, we need to discuss this with you. Ask a few questions to see if you can lead us to his murderer, have access to his room, computer, and cell phone to see if anything was out of the ordinary."

"Of course," she replied, ushering the agent and doctor into her home. "And please," she added, "call me Hazel." She plopped down heavily into a recliner and Booth and Brennan took a seat on the couch opposite her.

"Okay, Hazel, where is your husband?" Booth hoped to start off with an easy question, noticing the ring on her finger and family photos of Hazel, her husband, and Chase on the wall.

She shifted a bit in her seat before answering, "Oh, Ricky's just at work. He's a pretty important financial advisor, so he's always working and I got to take a less-strenuous job as an elementary teacher."

"So does that mean Chase was here alone a lot?"

"Well, not really. Sure, Ricky worked a lot, but he tried to come home early and do work from home whenever he could. Even if he couldn't spend a lot of time with Chase, he wanted to be around him. He loved his son," she emphasized, then continued, "and I'm only a teacher, so I could be home every day when he came home from school."

"Do you have any other children? Friends that Chase brought home often?"

"No other children," she started, and both of their hearts broke at the thought of this woman losing her only child, "but Chase was a popular boy. He played football and wrestled, was in lots of clubs, got stellar grades, always nice to everyone he met. I just can't imagine who would want him dead," she cried at the end.

"Don't worry, Hazel. We'll find out who did this to your son," Booth promised her sincerely, standing up to leave. Brennan thought better of investigating the victim's room for now – the mother was clearly shaken, and she could easily come back within a few hours with her team and an agenda.

Just then, the three adults heard a rattle from the upstairs. Booth and Brennan looked at each other, both immediately losing their trust in the seemingly innocent mother they had just spoken to. "I thought you said nobody lived here besides you, Chase, and your husband, Mrs. Gregory," Dr. Brennan locked eyes with the mother.

"Nobody does," she started immediately, "probably just the dog making noise!"

"That didn't sound like pawprints," Booth stated as he and Brennan made their way to the stairs, Hazel following helplessly behind. "Really, it was just the dog. We have a huge, clumsy retriever, probably just getting into trouble like always," she tried again, more in attempt to convince herself than to convince the people in her home.

Nothing had made a sound since they heard the first noise moments ago, but Brennan was drawn to Chase's room anyways, her impeccable memory indicating that that room was the source of the noises. Once inside, she stopped and listened carefully, silently finding the boy's laptop and handing it to Booth, as it was considered evidence anyway. Then, she heard a sound once more: this time, like something rubbing against a floor. Booth fell in step behind his brilliant wife as she approached the closet and went to open it, only finding the door to be locked with a deadbolt as she heard more muffled noises.

She turned to Hazel, eyes blazing and voice hard, as she demanded, "Where are the keys to this door?"

Hazel, growing more anxious and upset by the second, with tears streaming down her face, shouted, "I don't know! There's nothing in there anyway!"

Luckily, Booth's military and FBI training had paid off well, and he was already kneeling at the door, working the lock when the two women finally turned to look at him. He was picking the last pin, and suddenly, the lock popped open and he hurriedly opened the door and flipped on the dim overhead light, flinching at the ripe stench coming from the small room.

In the back of the closet, behind a hamper, a rack of clothing, and piles of shoe boxes and other knick-knacks, huddled together, and clearly scared, Booth had found two dark-haired little boys cowering underneath his stare.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**

 **Warnings: None**

 **The Flaw in the Foster System**

"What are you two doing in here?" Booth asked in what was hopefully a gentle manner, entirely too aware of the tremors wracking the little bodies on the floor in front of him. At the sound of Booth's deep voice, tears rolled out of the smaller one's eyes and he turned to hide his face in the other child's shoulder. That's when the FBI agent saw it: a huge, adult-sized-shoe-shape bruise on just a tiny kid's face.

He exited the closet immediately, pulling his cuffs out of his back pocket as he did so. "Mrs. Gregory, you're under arrest for child endangerment, neglect, and abuse – and have just become a suspect in your own child's murder," he announced, moving to drag a flailing, uncooperative Hazel with him out the door. "Bones," he started as he was about to leave, "I'll be sending backup. Those boys are coming with to be questioned," after a moment, he added, "and call child services."

"Don't send anyone else out yet. There's no danger here, Booth – you take care of her and come back when you have a moment to help transport these two unless I can do it myself earlier," Brennan said. Upon seeing Booth's disapproving face, she argued, "They're already scared. Somebody hurt them and locked them in that closet for an undetermined amount of time. If they are, in fact, foster or adopted children, involving social services will likely only make the situation worse for them, as they'll think they're going back to the children's center, and even if they're not wards of the state already, it's inhumane to put a child into that disorganized, cruel system. We don't have all the facts yet – so I'm not calling. You may come back to help when you are finished with her," Bones nodded towards the mother, and left no room for Booth to argue. He sighed, understanding her disdain towards the system, and then left with the comfort that there truly is no danger left in this home to harm his wife.

Once Booth left, she stepped cautiously into the closet – not wanting to further alarm the already traumatized children – and dropped to their level to approach them. She noted the bruise on what was perhaps the younger child's face and the fact that she was sure to find more damage to both boys' skull, ribs, and extremities, but pushed those thoughts away as she scooted closer to the two kids, praying to the God she knew wasn't listening that she wasn't frightening them.

"Hi," she started, cautiously, unsure of her actions. Children had always made her insides flutter with love, compassion, and a healthy twinge of fear, and having her own babies had helped to remedy some of that nervousness. However, these boys were certainly not her own happy, healthy children – they'd been through something horrible that while she could relate, she wished she didn't, and that she was thankful Christine and Hank would never understand. Still, when the seemingly younger boy buried himself more into who was perhaps his brother's chest, yet the older boy didn't move them away from her, she pressed her thoughts to the back of her mind and pressed on.

"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. The man who was just here is my husband, and his name is Seeley Booth. He's an FBI agent and I work at the Jeffersonian Institute. Did you two boys know Chase Gregory?" she asked gently. The older boy nodded. His jaw remained strong, his features set in stone, and no tears escaped his hazel eyes. He certainly portrayed himself as the alpha male in this relationship – every tribe had one – but instead of being dominant, he was just protective. He held the littler boy tighter in his arms.

"Do you two live here?" she continued. He stayed quiet for a moment, and she followed suit. Finally, after a few minutes, he whispered timidly, "Kind of."

"Is that woman who was in here your mother?" Brennan asked, and he responded again, "Kind of."

"Is she your foster mother?" she pried, holding in a breath as she waited for his answer.

Then, a solemn nod. Still no tears rolled down his cheeks, but she could easily see them pooling in his lower lids. Both eyes were bruised, and in the dim light, she finally sighted a dark, ominous shadow on his jaw, his jaw that was clenched so tightly in an attempt to keep up a strong façade for both kids. The smaller one, still burrowing a hole into the older boy's chest fifteen minutes after he started, began a sob so deep that it wracked his own chest, and wailed a song filled to the brim with notes of pain and misery. It was time to remove them from this home where they'd been made to suffer, victims to the system, victims to the foster parents who were supposed to protect them, and victims to the circumstance they were born into.

"Listen, we're here to help you. Are you willing to bring this little guy and come with us?" she inquired, hoping that he would accept her offer and she could move the children to a safer, more secure location. He chewed the inside of his cheek while he thought and she sat patiently, waiting for him to make a decision.

" _She seems like a nice lady,"_ he thought, considering his options. But then he thought: _"Do I even have another option?"_ He looked down at the boy laying in his lap and wondered what the best decision was for him, then looked back up at the lady who was wearing a soft smile. He took a deep breath, and sullenly asked, "Are you gonna take us back to the kid's center?"

"No, we won't. You'll be coming with us to the Jeffersonian, as you both clearly need medical attention, and to the Hoover building to be asked some questions about Chase. We will have to call social services, however, to alert them that they've been grossly incompetent in caring for you two and to make them aware that you will be part of this investigation," she assured him.

"What happened to Chase?" he asked, wide-eyed. "Why is there an investigation? Is he in trouble? Did he come to you guys? Is that why you asked if we knew him?"

Brennan was, for once, unsure if the best approach was to be blunt in her answer. The range of emotions that this boy could have held toward Chase was vast – he could have been envious, affectionate, or anything in between – but the option to just be straightforward won out, as it always did in her book. "He was murdered. We found his remains today," she told him calmly.

Just then, they could hear Agent Booth entering the house. Brennan looked at her watch, incredulous that an hour had passed during this conversation. He flinched at the noise the closing door made and wrapped his arms tighter around the now quiet child laying in his lap.

"I think we could come with you," he finally decided.

Booth listened carefully at the exchange taking place, his heart swelling with pride as he thought about the progress Bones had made as a former orphan, an abuse survivor, and as a person as a whole. She had come from being an emotionally walled-off, secretive woman and grown into a loving, caring mother, friend, partner, and wife who was now doing an excellent job at communicating with two kids who needed both to trust and to accept help.

"Is it okay with you both if Booth helps us get out of here?" Brennan asked, grateful that he was accepting their help, but still fearful that a male presence may scare the two abused kids.

"Please don't let him get too close to him," he nodded at the smaller boy, "but I guess he can help you."

Brennan nodded her understanding, then slowly, tenderly began to lift the little boy up so as to free the bigger one. He instantly began kicking and screaming, but the more talkative boy hushed him and explained that these people were here to help and that he needed to go with the lady. The little boy finally agreed and looked at Brennan cautiously before allowing her to pick him up, but flinched when her arms made contact with his back. She immediately repositioned her grip and made note to have full medical examinations conducted upon arrival at the Jeffersonian. With the boy finally securely in her arms, Brennan stood up as far as she could and exited the closet with the other child following behind her.

"Hey, buddy," Booth greeted the child who was walking on his own, "Can I help you pack up anything? You won't be back here."

He looked distrustfully at Booth and shrugged. "I can get it. We don't have that much stuff," he replied. At that, he went back to the closet – then looked behind him fearfully, as if he expected the door to be shut behind him and to be held prisoner again in the tiny space – and quickly grabbed a shoebox off the top shelf, a couple of ratty hoodies, and a faded blue blanket before leaving the closet and closing the door behind him with a sense of finality.

"What about his things?" Booth asked, gesturing towards the child in Brennan's arms.

"These are his things, too," the boy answered solemnly. He continued, "Like I said. We didn't have that much stuff."

Booth felt his heart shatter into a few million pieces as he thought about the full toy boxes and closets his two children at home did, and the undoubtedly many clothes and electronics his teenager overseas had, but he swallowed his grief and continued with the task at hand. The older boy reluctantly handed over the shoebox and sweatshirts to Booth, but clutched the blanket tightly to his chest. Brennan stepped ahead of everyone else in the room and led her husband and the boy out of the bedroom, down the steps, and out of the door. She approached Booth's vehicle and moved to open the door for the older child, but he glared at her offer to help and trudged around to the other side of the SUV to let himself in. Brennan understood his need to feel in control, and simply ignored his actions and proceeded to transition the little one from her arms to a seat and buckled him in. He fell limply into his seat as she realized he'd fallen asleep, probably from a combination of trauma, exhaustion, and perhaps even malnourishment. For the first time, she was able to really look at the smaller of the two boys, and was shocked and just how babyish his size and features were. Whereas the older boy had a strong facial structure and a too-lean, yet sturdy and athletic body, this child had a round face and a lanky, awkward frame. His dark, curly hair only accentuated his boyish features, allowing her to draw the reasonable conclusion that he was approximately two years younger than the other boy and was certainly not his biological brother. Once he was seated, she moved around to the passenger seat and Booth slid into the driver's seat, having placed their belongings in the back. He started up the vehicle and drove away, hoping that would be the last time the boys saw that home.

As they began the trip back to the Jeffersonian, Brennan sent a text to Cam that read, "Have two foster boys from the victim's home. Both show obvious signs of abuse and malnourishment. Will be needing you to conduct a full medical exam." As she heard her phone 'ping' to relay Cam's understanding, she finally allowed herself to relax and sigh into her seat, and felt Booth's strong hand take hers in order to comfort her. She smiled wearily at him, and soon enough, they were pulling into the Jeffersonian.

As the car came to a rest, Brennan turned around in her seat to face the kids in the back, although one was still asleep. She articulated what would be happening clearly so as not to confuse him, and said, "I'll be going inside to work with another doctor to prepare for your examination. You both will be going with Agent Booth to answer a couple of questions so we are sure to contact the correct people," at his nervous glance at the sleeping boy, she reassured him, "Don't worry. He will just be with you in my office, which is very near to where I'll be working, and he will take no longer than ten minutes. I'll take you in myself, and you'll be very safe with him. In fact, I can even send in one of my female friends if she will put you more at ease?" she finished with this suggestion.

The kid just shook his head and unbuckled both himself and his foster brother, softly shaking him awake and calming him as he panicked for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings. Both adults watched one child stroke the hair of another, drying up the other's tears and ultimately helping the other out of the car. Booth pocketed the keys and left swiftly, heading to Bones' office in an attempt to give her extra time to prepare them for a few questions so they could identify the kids and get in contact with the right social workers so they could officially be questioned about Chase's murder.

Bones was grateful for the few additional moments she would have alone with the children and led both boys into the Jeffersonian. Once they'd arrived in her office, she reminded both kids that Booth was an adult to be trusted and that if at any point they were ready for a break, to just feel free to let either of them know. With that, she left the two kids together and granted Booth access to her office as she headed out to the forensic platform that appeared to have recently been cleared out of its usual tools and bustling interns in order to allow for some privacy. After briefing Cam on her discovery, she set to obtaining the remaining items they would need to examine the boys.

Over in her office, Booth sat down in Bones' chair behind her desk and asked the boys to make themselves comfortable wherever they'd liked. The older purposely pushed the younger behind him and the two sat down on a couch near her desk, arms slung around each other for comfort and safety.

"So, boys, what are your names?"

The senior spoke up for the two of them. He answered, "I'm James Aubrey and this is pretty much my little brother, Lance Sweets."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**

 **Warnings: Will have detailed mentions of abuse, but no depiction yet. This would definitely be above a 'T' rating – read with caution.**

 **The Flaw in the Foster System**

" _I'm James Aubrey and this is pretty much my little brother, Lance Sweets."_

"How old are you both?" Booth asked curiously. The kids both seemed young, especially Lance – who was still refusing to speak – maybe around ten or so, but gauging their ages off their appearance proved to be a difficult task. Even though Booth didn't possess the trained eye of a medical professional, it didn't take a genius to deduce that these boys had been malnourished and otherwise neglected, and those facts alone obscured their ages beyond the point of accurate guesswork.

"I'm thirteen," James started, becoming more comfortable with the officer, "and Lance is eleven." When Booth's eyebrows shot up, he quickly defended himself and his brother, "But we act plenty grown up! Just kind of little."

The agent smirked a bit at the boy's immediate reaction, then continued with the ugly process of garnering as much information as possible from the two kids – preteens – sitting in front of him. "Why doesn't Lance talk?" Booth inquired gently, nodding at the little boy, who appeared to be very focused on his lap.

Lance's head shot up at the question specifically about him, eyes wild, breathing quickening, pulse thundering in his heart and brain, a storm of emotions wreaking havoc on the relative calm he'd achieved since leaving the house and even being granted a nap. James shot a glare at the agent, redacting his earlier thought that he might be trustworthy, and wrapped his own skinny, pale arms, riddled with scars and bruises loosely but supportively around Lance. He pulled him into his lap, just as he had in the closet, and shifted the pair to the end of the couch, as far away from the strange man as possible. James whispered softly into Lance's hair, running his fingers softly over his skin – careful to avoid obvious injuries – and cooed him back to peace.

Once Lance was assured of his safety, James turned back Booth, who had been sitting in silent guilt, regret, and curiosity. Guilt for having frightened just a little boy who'd already been frightened so much, regret for having moved too swiftly in hoping to get to know the boys, but overriding both of those feelings was curiosity. He watched and let his mind wander to how this older brother chose to protect his younger, and remembered how his own adolescence was spent putting himself between Jared and their father. At that, he looked to James with a respectful sympathy in his eyes, silently apologizing for what he'd done.

Either so as not to startle Lance, or because he was terrified himself, Booth couldn't tell, but James whispered, "'Cause you scare him." He held Booth's gaze in a deadlock, almost daring him to refute his statement, daring him to doubt the legitimacy of what he said, daring him to believe he was worthy of speaking to his little brother – _his_ Lance, the person he had spent the last eight months taking beatings for, sneaking food for. This man did _not_ get to take advantage of their vulnerability and squeeze information out of him just because he was from the FBI.

"I think we're done in here," James asserted, jaw strong. He wasn't afraid of what Booth would do to him for his disrespect. He had taken worse and wasn't afraid of doing so again. He waited for the screaming, the anger, but it never came.

"I understand. I'll let Dr. Brennan and Dr. Saroyan know you two are ready to go." When James was unfazed, Booth decided to push for one more question. "Can you give me the name of your social worker, please?"

With hard eyes, James answered with, "Beth McIntyre. She's both ours."

Booth nodded his thanks then picked up the phone to alert Dr. Brennan that the boys needed a break from talking. She arrived at her office to escort them to the forensic platform within moments, by which point James had picked up Lance in a bear hug to carry him. Brennan picked up on the signal that he needed some control back after his session with Booth and didn't offer her help. They made their way to the platform and she swiped them on, pausing as James struggled with the steps, Lance unmoving in his brother's arms.

Dr. Saroyan approached them cautiously, noting James' stare but asked them anyways, "Can I know your names?" James rolled his eyes but answered her question anyway.

"My name is Dr. Saroyan, but you can call me Cam if you like. Would you be willing to set Lance on this table?" she questioned. James looked at Dr. Brennan for confirmation that this was safe, but he wasn't sure he could trust her anymore either – after all, she was married to the buffoon who'd sent Lance into a panic attack – but he also remembered that she'd helped rescue the two. When she nodded, he looked back at Dr. Saroyan and her kind eyes, and proceeded to move Lance to the examination table to which she'd been referring. When he did so, Lance whimpered softly, but James hushed him and continued to hold his hand as he awaited instruction from the two men.

"We'll need to perform some basic tests and examinations of you two. We need to measure your height, weight, take x-rays, and…" Dr. Brennan trailed off, waiting for Cam to pick up the end of her statement. She took the hint and turned to the kids, hesitating slightly when she explained, "We'll have to do a regular check-up as well, given the signs of abuse you've both so clearly displayed."

"What does that mean?"

Holding back her tears, sympathy, and heartbreak, Cam answered him clinically. "You'll be asked to remove your clothing so we can diagnose and treat any injuries you may be hiding."

For a thirteen-year-old boy, the prospect of being asked to willingly take off his clothes for a stranger was so shocking he couldn't answer right away. Dr. Brennan jumped in then, reassuring him by explaining, "We are doctors. We will maintain your privacy and respect your and your brother's wishes throughout the whole process. This is very necessary, otherwise, it wouldn't be happening."

James nodded his understanding, a bit of a lump forming in his throat. With that, the two women set to work. Brennan electronically received both boys' files from Booth, and wasn't shocked to learn they were thirteen and eleven, despite their small stature. She was gentle yet professional as she first took Lance's height and weight – 4'5" and a measly sixty pounds – and James was hesitantly separated from his brother as Cam took full body x-rays. They then switched positions to put James on the scale and Lance before the imaging machinery. The entire time, Lance was shockingly calm, but James kept a close eye on him, refusing to be more than a few feet away at all times. Soon enough, the initial procedures were complete and it was time for Cam to complete the physical exam.

Dr. Brennan having no expertise in the workings of a live human body relinquished the medical duties to her superior, and made herself busy in preparing to take notes. Before Cam proceeded, though, she stopped to ask James, "Which one of you would like to go first?"

James swallowed and looked away from Cam and her question. He was getting tired of being strong, getting tired of having to make every choice, but he knew he had to for Lance's sake. Finally, he responded bravely, "I will. I wanna show Lance it won't be scary."

Both doctor's hearts soared at his compassion and courage in the face of what had to be a terrifying situation, and moved to follow his wishes. Dr. Brennan took Lance's hand – slowly – and helped him off the table, shuffling him to the seat next to her and lifting him to be seated comfortably. The entire time, he stared into her eyes with his dark, deep ones, relaying no emotion through those shiny orbs. She didn't know exactly what to make of this, as he'd refused to look directly at anyone thus far, but took it as a sign of progress.

"Okay, James, remember that this is for your safety and wellbeing, and you are in control for this entire process. If you would like to take a break at any point, please let me know," Cam reminded the boy. He just nodded his head and looked away, preparing to comply with her orders.

"Could you please remove your shirt for me?" He did so, and she bit her lip at what she saw on his back. His shoulders sported hand-shaped bruises, as did the lengths of his arms. She noted three lashing scars on his upper back, as well as wayward, randomly shaped bruises that were likely the result of being hit, kicked or shoved into objects. She moved towards his front and had to use her gloved hand to lift his chin, as she assessed the state of his black eyes and the deep, fresh bruise on his jaw. He held strong as she lifted his arms out to the side and examined the injuries to his front. Upon her completion, she silently handed him back his shirt.

"Am I done now?" he pleaded, his big eyes tugging on her heartstrings a bit.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid not. I need you to remove your shoes, socks, and jeans for me, please," she answered, trying to keep the trembling from her voice.

He looked as if he was ready to protest, but one look at his brother reminded him of the need to be strong and brave. Slowly, he reached down to untie his shoes, pull of his socks, and at a snail's pace, unbuttoned, unzipped, and shrugged off his jeans. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore what was happening.

Cam swallowed hard as she took in the dark bruises around his ankles, indicating that he had been previously tied down. She found more blue-black marks on his shins and thighs, and he flinched when she touched the back of his knees – a cigarette burn not yet fully healed on each leg. Once all those injuries were catalogued, she sighed as she prepared herself and James for the part of the exam she was looking forward to least. She didn't know if he had anticipated it, but when she softly asked him to remove his underwear and turn to stand at the end of the stainless steel table, his eyes filled with tears and his mouth hung open. Again, that was until he looked at Lance and his tired eyes which needed an example to follow. He covered his mouth to suppress a sob as he followed her instructions, eyes downcast the whole time, fresh tears dripping out of them. As he bent over the table like he knew he'd have to, he felt Cam steady him with a warm hand on his back, and relaxed for a second before he heard her have to snap on a new glove, lubricate her finger, and slip as gently as possible inside. He cried out in pain and in fear and she felt no new tearing, but evidence of a few scars, approximately six to eight months old. She finished in less than five minutes and as she found no indicators of a sexually transmitted infection, she concluded her exam and helped him back into his clothes. He continued to cry as he approached Lance and hugged him tight, promising that the tests weren't so bad and that he would be right there the whole time.

Cam, deeply shaken by the discoveries of the first boy, collected her emotions and pushed on, lifting Lance onto the table and helping him out of his shirt. What she found on his back nearly made her drop to her knees on sight – dozens of lashing scars, some old, most new, and clearly made with a whip as opposed to a belt. Otherwise, he shared the same injuries as James did on his upper half. He stared straight ahead, looking at nobody, not letting out so much as a whimper as Cam sprayed his back with an antiseptic and covered it in gauze and bandages. Thankful for his tranquility and that she didn't have to fight him, the doctor took off his remaining clothing and found that he was not bound at the ankles, but rather had hand prints branded into his hips, which meant he was easy prey – easy to keep in place during a punishment.

She felt her heart leap into her throat and her stomach drop as she prepared for what was to come next, but decided to just get it over with. She lifted the little body off the table and turned him around, sliding his underwear the rest of the way off his bottom and wincing as she had to bend him over – something she was eternally grateful James did for her. In that moment, though, James wiped the rest of his tears and moved to opposite end of the table, holding out his hand to the eleven-year-old and doing his best to comfort him when he'd just been through the same thing.

Both doctors were moved to tears, but never let them fall.

Dr. Saroyan again prepped herself and this time Lance, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath as she maneuvered inside. Almost immediately, the screaming started, and she knew why – this was not only emotionally painful, but she couldn't imagine the physical pain he must be experiencing. Every single tear in his bottom was fresh, as old scars had been violently ripped open and new ones sheared within the last week. She tried to block out his noise and looked for signs of a disease, but it was taking too long, and she didn't know how much more he could hold out for before he started kicking and squirming, and the last thing she wanted to do was restrain him like this.

"James!" he wailed, the first real word any of them had heard from his mouth all day. "Why are you letting them do this to me?" he cried and begged James to make it stop. James, feeling guilty and horrible that he was putting his little brother through so much pain, let the tears roll down his cheeks unabashedly. "We have to, okay? It's the only way. The doctors are gonna take care of you and then this will never happen again. It's okay. They're gonna help you!" he tried frantically to make Lance understand, but the deep hurt in the younger boy's eyes only caused a deep hurt in his own chest. By the time Cam reached the final stage of her exam, Lance was gagging but could only dry heave. He didn't have anything in his stomach to vomit back up.

Cam finished as soon as the dry heaving started, and helped him back into his clothes. James almost tackled him in a hug, pulling him close to cry and grieve. They stayed that way until Dr. Brennan finally spoke up, clearing the emotion from her throat and hoping to distract the boys, and told them, "I know you both are starving. I've got a friend who would love to take you to the cafeteria to eat anything you want. How does that sound?"

Still sniffling, James shook his head, even though Lance looked hopelessly at James, obviously hungry. "We don't have any money," he spoke sadly.

"I guess I should have mentioned that that friend also works here, and thus makes a healthy salary – not to mention that her husband is quite wealthy, and that she loves children. You'll be doing myself and her more of a favor than you'll be doing for yourself if you go," Brennan worked her persuasive magic, and James reluctantly agreed. Brennan called Angela from her office, explained the situation, and quickly had a smiling, excited Angela who was holding her heart and her wallet wide open for the boys. James again introduced the two – Lance hadn't spoken since his outburst – and they were soon off with Angela, who was probably trying to discuss superheroes and cars with the two.

Dr. Brennan and Cam exchanged a mutual look of his exhaustion, and Bones thanked her for conducting the examination. Cam assured her it was no problem and set to documenting all of their injuries and writing prescriptions for antibiotics to ward off infections, and Brennan made her way back to her office to find Booth still sitting at her desk.

"I just got off the phone with the social worker," he launched into work right away. "She's coming down tomorrow so they can be officially questioned."

"Is that really necessary? They're both exhausted. They need a break."

"Bones, they're suspects in this murder now."

 **This entire story will not be so melancholy. Just give it time. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**

 **Warnings:**

 **The Flaw in the Foster System**

" _Bones, they're suspects in this murder now."_

When Special Agent Seeley Booth – her partner, her husband, her rock, and the mother of her children – let those words hesitantly escape his dry lips, Dr. Brennan struggled to even absorb the shock of what he was implying. The very idea that the children who just sobbed in pain and sorrow over her examination table were responsible for the gruesome murder of another child was disturbing to say the least, and she could quickly feel the anger and resentment bubbling in her stomach towards Booth for suggesting that foster children were responsible for this.

"Booth!" she yelped, the fire in her eyes flaring up in preparation for what seemed to be an inevitable fight between the two. After her own stint in the foster system, she utterly _refused_ to allow her husband to use these kids as a scapegoat for this murder. While maybe all he saw were two kids, victims of their circumstances and likely troubled as a result, she saw young, frightened, but brave boys who had been put through hell and back who now needed adults they could trust to advocate for them. She saw resilience and strength and protectiveness in James, as he put his little brother first and foremost, and she saw the beginnings of gentleness and a shy intelligence in Lance as he showed his vulnerability and pain. Mostly, though, she saw herself in these boys as they had been battered and abused by the very system that was designed to protect them.

"You _cannot_ assume that just because they're foster kids, they did this! That is so unfair and illogical and irrational and _disgusting_ that you could make that connection for even a second!" Brennan plowed on, surprising Booth. He held up a hand to hopefully cause a break in her tirade, but that didn't seem to have any effect on her.

"Those are just two kids who have spent their whole lives suffering, Booth! Is that how you saw me? Do you think I murdered people, too?"

At this point, Booth grabbed her wildly flailing arms and butted in, "Bones! Calm down! That is not what I meant at all. I need you to listen calmly to me, okay?" But Brennan wasn't having any of it, and forcefully shoved Booth off of her.

"Look, I can't listen to you accusing two innocent children right now. I'll see you at home," and at that, she spun on her heel and walked out of her office, leaving Booth completely dumbfounded as to what just happened.

Shaken and upset by their previous conversation, she went to the one place she knew she could feel safe and secure: the forensic platform, her intern having returned, along with Dr. Hodgins, Dr. Saroyan (after having taken a few minutes to calm down,) and her bones. Angela was nowhere in sight, hopefully still feeding the two skinny kids and keeping them occupied. With the trust in her friend to protect James and Lance, Dr. Brennan snapped on a pair of gloves and began re-examining the teenage body in front of her and discussing further discoveries with Wendell. Wendell, confused as to why he'd been sent on such a long lunch today, had spent his time examining the x-rays he'd taken with to the diner. As he explained to his mentor his findings, he pointed out the evidence that confirmed that the victim was killed by a spherical object thrown at his head, and Hodgins promptly swabbed the wound for particulates. While he ran his swabs through the mass spectrometer, Brennan texted Angela to alert her that she would be needing her to run a scenario at some point later in the day. Satisfied that she'd made some progress, she ambled off the platform into her office, letting out a grateful breath when she realized Booth wasn't anywhere in sight.

Unsure of what else to do, she made her way over to the cafeteria to find Angela still occupying the boys with ice cream and some of Michael Vincent's things she must keep in her office. Although Michael Vincent was much younger than James and Lance, Brennan could only imagine that the two foster boys had never been able to play with a handheld gaming system as advanced as most other children their age. She thought back to their lack of personal possessions, and remembered from her own days in the system how foster children simply could not be allotted an exorbitant amount of clothing, toys, or games. They had to be prepared to pack up their whole lives in a hand-me down backpack, garbage bag, or shoebox at a minute's notice, and she blinked back a few tears while she watched James ask Angela how the game worked, and Lance shyly smile and watch.

"Hey, Angela," she called to her friend as she approached the trio from across the nearly empty cafeteria. "Did you get my text?"

Angela flashed her famous, toothy smile and answered, "Yes, Sweetie, I did, but how could you ever ask me to work when we're having much more fun playing here?" She gestured to the two boys, grinning at them before turning back to her friend. She continued, "But, if you insist, I suppose I could run a scenario or two for you."

Brennan's eyes were grateful as she thanked Angela for feeding the kids, and Angela assured her it was no problem and she would text as soon as she had the information gathered and scenarios designed for the team. At that, Brennan sat down opposite the two kids, pleased to see entirely clean plates and empty glasses on the table. "Did you two get enough to eat?" she asked. Both boys nodded enthusiastically in unison, and she silently thanked Angela again for making sure they ate enough.

"Dr. Brennan?" James asked shyly. He looked nervous now, much more so than just a few minutes ago, as he pulled on his sleeves and wrung his hands. She asked him what it was, and he looked down. After a few moments of silence, he made eye contact with her again. "Um, do you know where we're staying tonight? Do we have to go back to the house or to the children's center?"

Bones wasn't quite sure what the right answer was. She most certainly couldn't send them back to the Gregory's home, and the very idea of dropping them off at a group home made her veins constrict and her blood to feel as though it was being replaced with pure, liquid anxiety. Of course she knew that just wasn't possible, so she pushed her feelings away and put herself back in their tattered shoes. "Where would you like to stay?"

Clearly not expecting that question, James looked to Lance for input, who just shrugged and looked away. James spoke up then, and said, "Well, I guess I'm not sure." Then, softly, a moment later, "Just not the house you took us from."

Immediately, Brennan jumped in and said, "No, absolutely not. James," she spoke directly to him to make him look at her, "For all the money in the world, I would not send you back there." His features relaxed and he looked relieved at hearing that they would not be sent back to the 'parents' who, instead of protecting and loving them, verbally, physically, and sexually abused them. He shuddered at the dark memories. Brennan, however, shuddered for another reason: she had no place to put these children that would not hurt them. Although she knew she legally couldn't send them back to a home in which abuse was taking place, she also hated the thought of them spending the night in bunk beds, clutching each other for support, while social workers who didn't really care about them neglected them.

Both boys had melancholy, hollow eyes as they stared back at her, wondering what they were to do. Maybe they would simply have to go back to the Gregory's house. Maybe they would simply live in the children's center until they finally aged out. Maybe they would even have to live on the streets. To be honest, it didn't seem to matter much anymore – neither of them had felt overwhelming amounts of love in their eleven and thirteen years, and they didn't think they'd ever experience the type of affection and care other kids their age felt. The only thing they had was each other, but with Lance quickly falling to levels of mental sickness and exhaustion that James could no longer comprehend, he knew there wasn't much time until Lance was sent where the "crazy kids" as they called them went – into a hospital with medicines and padded walls, never to be heard from again.

Brennan empathized, and with her husband's threats of questioning these kids who couldn't catch a break nagging at the back of her mind, she offered without thinking, "You can both come live with me. I am a registered foster parent, and I have two children of my own, along with plenty of funds to care for two more. You are both welcome in my home."

They stared at her, dumb-founded, shell-shocked, flabbergasted. This lady – the one who had saved them from their foster family, stayed with them when they were scared, made sure they had the medical treatment they needed, and even got someone to take them to dinner – was now opening her home to them. It sounded too good to be true, but they didn't care, and although it went against his every moral to not impose on others, to avoid becoming burdensome, and to mind his manners, James smiled and answered, "Yes!" Even Lance, wrapped under James' arms, had a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You hear that, Lance?" James asked, kissing his curly locks and pulling him tight, "We're gonna have a home tonight!"

When James dropped the h-word – home – Brennan immediately set high expectations for herself when it came to caring for the boys. Still, she knew she could handle it, and got the kids set up in her office to relax a few hours before she could leave work. Once the lights were down as well as both kids, movie playing on her laptop, and oversized bowl of popcorn in front of them, she left her office to immediately be rolled into by an excited Dr. Hodgins.

"Sorry about that, Dr. B! I've got test results!" he shouted. She brushed herself off and he continued, "Mass spectrometer shows he was hit by an object made of cowhide. Wendell figured out it was a spherical object from the fracture lines on the skull, so add those two things together, and-"

Brennan cut him off with, "It's a baseball."

"Exactly. Which means that this was likely a crime of passion, right? I know I'm no FBI agent, but nobody actually tracks somebody down with a baseball, right?" Hodgins figured to himself.

Brennan responded, "No, of course not. It's not a precise enough object for anyone to think it would be capable of actually killing someone, unless the killer was very simple-minded. In which case…" she trailed off, as Booth's earlier suggestion that they were suspects came flooding back into her brain, and she rushed away from Hodgins over to the Hoover building into Booth's office.

Booth was surprised to see his wife had come around fairly quickly, but he still wouldn't be getting in any words, not because she was talking too fast, but because he was shocked at her words.

"Even though the evidence thus far may suggest otherwise, I am going to do what you always do and use my gut and tell you that those boys are not your murderers. I'm always right. Do you believe me?" she pleaded with him. When he finally nodded, but said they couldn't dismiss the possibility until evidence by the forensic team ruled them out, she broke the news: They would be contacting the social worker for emergency placement in the Booth and Brennan home.

Booth drew in a breath, filling his lungs with as much oxygen as he knew he would need to explain why this was a bad idea. "Bones, you know that I love you, and I trust you when you say you do not believe these kids are not murderers, but I'm about to tell you something you tell me when I make gut decisions: We have no forensic evidence to acquit them, we have no alibi, and we do have a potential motive. I know you identify with them, but you can't let that cloud your objectivity. Bottom line, it would be a conflict of interest to have them in our home and you know it."

"Booth, I am not asking, I am telling. I am exceptional when it comes to compartmentalizing, and thus, you have no reason to believe my objectivity has been compromised. Do we have an agreement?" she ended confidently.

 _"Not really,"_ he thought to himself, but said out loud, "Okay."

"Good," she quipped, "because we're leaving now." At her instruction, he had gathered up his belongings in a minute, and she was dialing the number of the social worker whose name was scrawled on a sticky note, stuck to his computer monitor. As she explained the situation and the ideal arrangements to be made for the evening, Beth hurriedly went to work verifying Brennan as a valid foster parent and filling out the necessary paperwork on her end. As soon as those things had been done, she promised to arrive at the Jeffersonian within the half hour. Brennan hung up the phone, and she and Booth drove back to the Jeffersonian and stepped into her office only to be stopped in their tracks by James and Lance, asleep on her couch, Lance resting his head on James' hip and James with his hand in the popcorn bowl. As much as she hated to wake them, she quietly flipped on the lights and closed the laptop they had been fixated on, then gently shook James so as not to scare him. Despite her best efforts, however, he jerked awake, eyes wild like a spooked horse until he recognized his surroundings. His bony hand went to his chest in a comforting manner, and he softly stroked Lance's arm until he woke up, helping everyone avoid a similar situation with the littler boy. Lance's sleepy eyes opened carefully, and James explained, "Hey, you have to wake up. It's about time to go, I think."

Just then, their social worker knocked on Brennan's door. Booth ushered her in, and she approached the kids quickly, stooping to their level and scooping them up in a bear hug. A few tears escaped her lids as she apologized for not getting them out of the house despite what was happening. She apologized for feeling so powerless and so scared for them that she was frozen, and that she didn't perform her job correctly. She apologized for not doing better, and at that point, little Lance reached up from under her arms to wipe her face with his shirt and said, "It's okay, Beth. We forgive you."

Even Booth had to swallow both the lump in his throat and, for just a second, the notion that the boy who just forgave his social worker for not removing them from an abusive situation could have ever killed anyone. He looked away to give them some privacy while Beth explained their new circumstances and left them their number, urging them to call if _anything_ was wrong. Brennan, a little offended at the idea that the woman who had failed so badly at her job that she had allowed the kids she was responsible for to be brutally _raped_ according to Cam's notes, just about stepped forward until Booth held her back and gave her a warning look. Instead, she held tight in her spot until the social worker approached her with papers to sign, medical information for the boys, and a grateful hug. Then, she disappeared, blowing a kiss to the kids and leaving the new, surrogate family alone.

Although they looked apprehensive regarding Booth, they nevertheless seemed content when Brennan announced it was time to go home. James scrambled off the couch to grab their things before Booth could, and Brennan smiled to herself at how fragile his little, thirteen-year-old masculinity was. She then extended a soft hand to Lance – slowly, carefully, she didn't want to alarm him with the thought that her hand might be coming at him violently – and he took it cautiously. All four exited the office and climbed into Booth's SUV, and Brennan explained that come weekend, they would be able to go shopping for new clothes, toys, and things for their room, but for now, they'd be staying in the guest room and were welcome to Parker's – Booth's other son, they explained – clothes. She reassured them they wouldn't be in hand-me-downs for longer than a few days, but James blushed at the amount of money it sounded like would be spent on them. "Hand-me-downs are just fine for us," he responded quietly.

"No they're not, you know it, and I know it. They're degrading, so you're getting out of them as soon as possible," she said, and that ended that matter. The rest of the ride was quiet until they pulled up to Booth and Brennan's house, and then, both boys gasped at the sheer enormity and fanciness of the house. Once stopped, they jumped out of the car, grabbed their things, and walked inside to hear Max with Christine and Hank on the other side of the dwelling. For the first time since either of them had been thrust unceremoniously into the system, they felt warmth, and security, and maybe even love. They looked at each other, shoeboxes and duffel bags in hand, and saw their own lives reflected in the other's eyes.

"Well," Dr. Brennan spoke contentedly, "Welcome home, boys."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**

 **Warnings: No depiction, but does contain mentions of abuse. Also contains spoilers for S11.**

" _Well," Dr. Brennan spoke contentedly, "Welcome home, boys."_

Booth wasn't sure how to feel at his wife's announcement that two kids they'd met only hours ago were 'home' in the house that not only had he and Brennan built from scratch after they were attacked in their first home, but also that they'd raised two beautiful children in. Furthermore, the very fact that they were now fostering those same two kids who were still suspects in their current murder was sure to compromise both his and Brennan's objectivity for the remainder of the case. Overall, he just felt horribly conflicted regarding the entire situation – while glad that he could be part of helping James and Lance, and relieved that they were no longer in a predicament that hit too close to home for both him and Brennan, he was terrified at the very real prospect of any case they had against the murderer not holding up in court due to their bias towards these kids, and perhaps even a bit exasperated in this instance at Bones for doing the one thing he'd always encouraged her to do, but never thought she would: making decisions with her heart, and not her head. However, rising to the top of his current hierarchy of emotions, in direct contrast to his irritation and anxiety over his wife's actions was pride. He knew the amount of courage and deep introspection it had taken her to understand the boys' situation and to make the decision to take matters into her own hands, instead of taking the easy route by sending them back into the system. That was his Bones.

Still, he decided to keep his distance until he knew for sure they weren't responsible for another young boy's murder, and made a beeline for his own two kids. Pleasantly acknowledging his father-in-law, he scooped up a giggling Christine and her babbling baby brother, tickling Hank while he asked his little girl to tell him all about her day at school. After she'd finished her stories of math problems "harder than her daddy's job," as Christine described them, icky school lunches, and her upcoming second-grade music program, Booth released her from his hold and sat her on the couch next him and Hank, still in his lap. James, Lance, and Bones had been exceptionally quiet since he'd come to find his biological children, and he figured he should forewarn Christine of their guests before she saw them for herself.

"Christine," he began, "I have something a little more serious to talk to you about." Her eyes grew to the size of saucers – the poor girl probably thought she was in trouble.

He noticed her demeanor change right away, and reassured her quickly, "Don't worry. You're not in trouble, nobody is upset with you." He watched her quickly relax, and he ran a hand through her thin, blonde locks. He remembered when his own father would sit him down for a "talk" when he was younger, and could only wish that it would have ever, just once, been for just that – a "talk" – rather than a harsh, screaming introduction to how he and his brother had disappointed him yet again, and the price he would pay for the mistakes that Seeley now knew weren't his fault all of the time, his cruel sentences punctuated with crippling punches – he was a boy, and boys didn't get slapped, those were saved for his poor mother to weep about, alone in her bed every night – but overall, after his father had worn himself out, and Seeley was left to nurse his own injuries, he could always be grateful that his brother had escaped unscathed again.

Booth shook his head out of the past and back to the present, where his daughter waited expectantly for what was so important. He tried again, "Christine. You know what your mommy and daddy do for a living, right?"

"Sure!" she perked up. She always took pride in her parents' work, even though it didn't all make perfect sense. "Mommy finds dead people, and tells you who they are, and how they died, then you help her find who made them die."

"Very good," Booth answered, beaming at his daughter's intelligence. Then he continued, "So, when we have to find who the bad guys are, we pick a few people who seem like they might be the bad guys. Then we go to their house, and look around, and ask questions. We did that today. We had someone who had passed away, but he was just a teenager, so went to his house to ask his mom all about him." When Christine nodded her understanding, he continued, "At first, we didn't think she could be a bad guy. Then, we found two other kids in her house." The little girl didn't seem to understand – it wasn't bad to have more than one kid? Her own daddy had three and he worked for the law, so he couldn't breaking it.

Booth sighed as he went on, finally ready to break the news, "We found out that she and her husband had been treating the other two kids very badly, and that they were very mean to them. We couldn't let the other kids stay there, so they're staying here. In our house."

"Oh, okay," was all she had for a response. Booth was admittedly confused – he expected frustration, annoyance, anger, excitement, happiness, or really, anything – besides apathy. "Don't you have anything else to say?"

"Um, not really," she thought for a second, gnawing on the inside of her delicate mouth, and then, "What do you mean the mommy and daddy were really mean to them?"

Booth wasn't sure how to respond. He hated to lie to her, and he knew Bones would come right out and say it had she been the one asked, but he wasn't her, and this wasn't a topic he felt comfortable discussing with his baby girl. So he confidently said, "You're not big enough to hear about it yet. That means I don't want you asking your mother about it, and you definitely aren't allowed to ask the boys. Got it?" He eyed her seriously, and she nodded very rapidly. She didn't want to disappoint her daddy.

Satisfied with their conversation, Booth picked Christine up in a tight hug again before setting her down and allowing her to run out into the kitchen, where James and Lance were seated at the breakfast bar, full plates of food Max sat in front of them despite the fact that they'd eaten dinner only a couple of hours ago. Brennan greeted her daughter warmly, leaning down to squeeze her affectionately before sitting her up to the table to eat alongside the older boys. They weren't sure what to do exactly – do they say hi? Ignore her? They didn't want to scare her. That's when the adults stepped in.

"Christine," Brennan said sweetly, "This is James and Lance. They'll be staying with us, and you are to treat them just as you would treat Hank: like your brothers." Christine smiled, and exclaimed, "It's nice to meet you!" before turning back to her own plate to eat – she had been starving. Despite the fact that her grandpa had made her wait _all day_ for her parents to get home before she could eat dinner, and she felt like she was burning through her plate at lightning speed, nobody ate as quickly, albeit as quietly, as James, who shoveled the food down his throat before anyone could get through half of theirs. Curiously, Lance just picked at his own, not taking any real bites. Once all four kids had been given adequate time to eat, Brennan gave the two new kids a tour of the house, allowed them first opportunity at the shower (and helped to re-dress their wounds,) and showed them where they'd be staying – in the guest room, (unfortunately) sharing a bed, just until the weekend when they could pick up a couple of twin beds and move the queen-sized that was currently inhabiting the room into storage. They again seemed shocked at how much money it sounded like was being spent on them, and again, Brennan reassured them that they were quite wealthy and had plenty of money to put towards the boys' comfort. At that, she left them alone with their duffle bags, Parker's old clothes, and what seemed like new lives. Despite it only being 8:45, they decided it had been a long, exhausting day, and they changed into Parker's old gym shorts and t-shirts, shedding the clothing representative of their last placement.

While Lance slowly, painstakingly pulled his shirt off his sore back, James caught a glimpse of the extent of the wound dressing the doctors had given him and let out a low whistle. Lance looked shyly away and continued to remove the article and grabbed for his pajama shirt, donning it as quickly as possible.

"He really did a number on you last night, didn't he?" James asked softly. They both knew they were referring to Ricky – their foster 'father.'

"Yeah, I guess so. But I know what happened to you, so it's okay. Thanks," Lance answered him with a knowing look in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's- that's alright," James stuttered, "anything to keep the same thing from happening to you. You still look really rough though. Does anything hurt?" Of course, James was concerned with his little brother – no air quotes needed. It had been a rough last week, worse than the rest of the time they spent in the Gregory's house, and he was just grateful it was over now.

Lance gave him a hard look, not quite glaring, but more of an "are-you-serious?" type of glance. "Of course stuff does. My back hurts," he answered.

"Lance, I know that's not all," James answered as he nodded towards the shorter boy's slow movements as he maneuvered out of his jeans. Lance glared at him this time, and James knew to back off now and give him a break – he was trying to break down a wall to get him to talk about a sore body part, which in turn opened up to a sore topic in general to both boys.

"Hey, it's okay. These people are gonna take care of us now. And you know the lady is real nice, and maybe the guy will even be okay. And we didn't scare the little girl with all of our bruises and damage," he joked, and Lance smiled at the dark humor.

"Yeah," Lance agreed, "It'll be fine. But they think I'm weird."

"No, they don't," James countered back right away. "You're just not ready to talk to them all yet. It's a lot. And I know that Booth guy scares you."

James had read his apprehension correctly, so Lance took the opportunity now to fake a yawn and climb into the spacious bed gifted to them. James flipped the lights out and followed suit, not minding having to share a bed with Lance – it was better than sharing that horrible closet. In fact, not only did he not mind, but he was appreciative of the protection the situation allowed him to give Lance. While maybe nobody else loved them, they could love each other, and Lance snuggled close to his older brother and allowed him to wrap his arms loosely around him so as not to cause him any pain. They fell asleep like that – curled into one another, little, broken bodies molded together, Lance with his face finally relaxed and James with his lips upturned slightly.

Downstairs, Booth and Brennan were following their bedtime routine with their own children. Once Hank was laid down in his crib and Christine tucked in, they both tripped over each other to the kitchen, hastily throwing together some sandwiches for themselves and considering a glass of wine each, until Booth decided to forgo the alcohol in the event that the older boys needed something – he didn't know anything about their relationship with alcohol. Brennan agreed with his thought and put the glasses away, settling for a light dinner on the couch with her husband before she laid her head down on his strong chest. He snaked his built arms around her small frame, and just held her that way for awhile before silently taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, and sliding under the covers with her. Both too exhausted for their usual nightly activities, they fell deeply asleep, spiraling down their own separate rabbit holes of dark memories, dreams, and thoughts, and holding each other for comfort, never waking up to one another's whimper or moan, but shooting straight up in bed when they heard a piercing scream. Booth left Brennan in bed, instructing her to stay put as he walked hurriedly past Hank's room – infants didn't scream, they wailed – into Christine's, only to find his daughter wrapped up safely in the comforting entrapments of her pink comforter. When he realized it was one of the boys, he sighed, then heard the same, blood-curdling cry again and rushed up the steps and pushed the door open. What he found reminded him so dearly of his own childhood, and broke his adult heart into so many pieces he almost couldn't bear it – yes, James holding Lance like they'd seen him do so many times today – but this time, he could hear James detailing every injury on Lance's and his own body, reminding him of how what he had endured had made him strong, and it was okay to be scared, but the nightmares were no longer a reality. Unsure of his actions, Booth stepped into sight, and sat softly on the end of the bed until James hushed Lance back into a fitful sleep. Then, he looked up.

Booth started in a whisper, "You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was about your age." When James didn't respond, he continued.

"My old man was pretty mean, too. I was never in foster care, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities. He was bad and my mom unstable. If it hadn't been for my Pops, maybe I would have been just like you." James just stared at him, not sure what to say.

"Anyways, I had a little brother, too. Jared. He's dead now," he paused, biting back any emotion in his throat, "but when we were kids, I hated the thought of anything bad happening to him. So I took the blame for when he tracked mud in the house, and when he caused problems at school, and every other dumb thing he did. My dad would come in, mad, drunk, ready to beat the piss out of both of us, but it was just easier on me emotionally to let him at me. Whenever I couldn't protect Jared, it hurt more than it would've to just taken the hit. You understand." James nodded, surprised at what all he was telling him.

"So listen, James, I know you're a good kid. And I know all you want in this whole world is to protect that little guy there in your arms, but just know that's not necessary anymore. We're not gonna hurt him, and we're not gonna hurt you. Now, come morning – we have to ask you questions. I know it seems cruel and awful, but you're still suspects. We're looking to clear you both first – involving kids in murders is messy and unfair. Basically, I guess that what I'm trying to tell you is that tomorrow will come, and it'll be hard, but we're not questioning out of dislike or disrespect for you, but out of regard for the law. Once we solve this case, we can move past what happened to you, but we need your help first. Alright?" Booth finally ended his ramblings, hoping it made some sense to the thirteen-year-old ahead of him. Now more than ever, that barely-teenager looked grown-up, mature, and responsible as he answered.

"We understand. We didn't kill Chase, but we're not dumb. Not even Lance – he just doesn't wanna talk, but that doesn't make him dumb or anything. Still, we're smart enough to know you have to ask, but you're not gonna find anything. Our alibi is that closet."

Booth, deciding not to ask how long they'd been caged like animals in there, didn't mention that the murder occurred some fifteen days ago. That was a conversation for tomorrow. Satisfied that the boys were okay, he slipped out of the room and back into bed with his wife, who was still awake.

"Booth?" she asked softly, turning his chin towards her to gain his attention.

"Yeah, Bones?" he asked tiredly. He was ready to go back to sleep, hopefully to not be interrupted any further, but not minding that he had been roused previously.

"I heard what you told James through the vent in the ceiling, and I just want you to know I'm really proud of you for opening up to him that way… and also, that I know they're growing on you," she said with a smile, a sort of reserved pleasantness in her voice.

He let out a soft chuckle when he answered, "Yeah, I guess they are. They're just kids. They're scared. Go to sleep now, Bones. You need it."

She let out a relaxed hum as he enveloped her back into his warm, inviting embrace. He kissed her hair, considering the way life would have turned out had he committed suicide like he planned when he was fifteen – then realizing simply, yet astoundingly – it wouldn't have. Nothing would have turned out, good or bad, because he wouldn't have been alive for it to. He would never have grown out of the shell of a boy he was for his entire childhood, and would have never served his country in the army or the Bureau. He would have never met Rebecca and had Parker, and perhaps the worst realization of all, he wouldn't have met Bones, who had gifted him Christine and Hank. He wouldn't have considered the squints his family, and he wouldn't have the two unexpected additions to his family upstairs, holding each other, finally in a safe home for maybe the first time in years. He prayed a silent thank-you to his God for giving him Pops and saving his life by way of his grandfather, then drowned into a relaxing sleep again.

Tomorrow would be a trying day, yes, but Booth knew he could succeed with the support of his family and his God behind him, protecting him every step of the way.

 **I so appreciate the story follows, favorites, & especially reviews – keep them coming, I am **_**so**_ **much more inclined to write when I am receiving several long reviews each chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**

 **Warnings: Sexual abuse, language**

That morning came much too soon for James' liking, as the pale light infiltrating the window forced the sleep out of his eyes. He yawned groggily, then turned his head to see the time. The numbers on the alarm clock blinked out a ferocious, red 6:00 a.m. Figuring he would have to get up soon anyway, he gave the boy still sleeping in his arms one last squeeze before gently shaking his shoulder. Once Lance had come to terms with the fact that it was time to get up, James slipped out of bed and went to scouring through the closet mainly comprised of the mysterious Parker's old clothes. After finding some acceptable clothing for both boys in their respective sizes – dark pairs of jeans and long-sleeve flannels (he'd chosen to pass up the rather expensive looking zip-up sweatshirts he'd found – maybe this Parker would want them back someday) – he decided that whoever Parker was, he didn't vary his clothing style much during his younger years. Then again, both him and Lance were the size of elementary kids. Parker probably wasn't shopping for himself much at that age. James moved out of the suddenly suffocating closet and tossed the clothes to Lance. They both dressed and helped each other make the bed before quietly peeking out of their room. Spotting no signs of danger, they made their way to the bathroom they'd used last night, only to peer through the slightly ajar door to find it occupied by none other than Agent Booth, who seemed to be very focused on a routine of popping every joint in his body, starting with his neck and working down to his toes. At the first sight of Booth, Lance scuttled backward, scraping his toes on the hardwood floor in his attempt to get away before being noticed. Accidentally walking in on someone in the past meant his least favorite punishment, one even worse than the whipping. It was one that he was always told that he had been asking for, even though he knocked every time he entered a bathroom or bedroom and was told it was okay to come in… but he was in trouble anyway. He didn't understand the rules of any of the previous men he'd lived with – except for one, the one who he really thought of as his father. That was until Beth explained he'd gone to live with his wife in the sky, even though Lance knew that meant he was underground. He shook his head and chased those thoughts away, then focused again on rules. He didn't know them here. He made it back to the guest room then closed the door tightly behind him, hoping James wouldn't be the object of Agent Booth's wrath. His breathing was labored, his heart was ready to burst out of his chest, and sweat ran down his forehead and back in angry rivulets. He winced when his perspiration invaded the deep gashes on his back, but all of the adrenaline running through his body suddenly stopped as he heard Agent Booth's booming voice.

"What's going on out here?" Booth asked as he swung the bathroom door open, fully expecting to find Christine running around in her slippers, up before she was supposed to be. Instead, he was surprised to see James backed up flat against the wall. Booth scrunched his face up in obvious confusion and then remembered their conversation from the night before, suddenly feeling awkward around the teenager who knew a dark part of his life's story.

"Where's the little guy?"

James swallowed, unsure of how to answer. He knew that they were about to be questioned by this man in regards to Chase's murder, and he knew that they had not yet earned his trust. Still, at Booth's pointed look, he answered, "Um, just in the room. He's fine. We're fine, sorry to bother you."

"Why do you look like a deer caught in the headlights, then?"

Scraping himself off of his position stuck to the wall, James immediately relaxed his stance. He stuttered, "Oh. That's nothing. We're fine. Was just a little startled to see you, that's all."

Booth shrugged, deciding to take the boy's word for it. "Okay, well, help yourselves to the bathroom. We'll have breakfast ready downstairs by around seven or so," he said, then headed towards Hank's room, presumably to get him ready for daycare. James let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Then, in order to give Lance a little more time to regroup, he shuffled into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. The sight of his own face in the mirror was astonishing, as his bruises had faded from a purplish, beet-red hue to a sickly yellow color in the bright light. He shook his head and set to washing his face, brushing his teeth, and using the restroom before he left it, hoping to find Lance better than he had been twenty minutes ago. The older boy knocked softly on the door – four times – and waited.

Lance, who'd been curled up behind the bed with his knees brought to his chest, let out a relieved breath when he heard the knock only him and James used. Knowing it was safe to open the door, he crawled over to it and cracked it just enough for his brother to get in, then let it close shut behind him. Although he locked eyes with James for just a second, he quickly dropped them down to stare at his own toes and let out a small sniffle. Then, he looked back up, not making eye contact, but rather searching the unclothed portions of James' body for any new injuries. Quickly realizing what Lance was doing, James pulled him into a hug and whispered, "No, no, no, I'm not hurt. He wasn't going to hurt you, either. Don't worry so much. You worry too much."

With tear-filled eyes and a cracking voice, Lance wailed, "But he could have! And I left you out there. You've never left me."

"No, Lance, it's okay. You were just scared. I'll come with you to the bathroom now." And James did, he took his little brother by the hand and led him back to the bathroom, made sure nobody was inside, and waited right by the door until Lance reemerged. Then, they wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen where Dr. Brennan was brushing Christine's hair as the little girl ate. She greeted the two boys warmly, then gestured to the plates that had already been sat out for them. They responded kindly to her before taking their seats and quietly eating their breakfast. Soon enough, the clock struck 7:30, and it was time to load up the car, drop Christine at school, and for Booth to leave the rest of them at the Jeffersonian as he went to the Hoover. Bones would be joining him shortly after checking in with the lab.

Once inside the Jeffersonian, the boys weren't sure of what to do with themselves. Their social worker was scheduled to come pick them up to take them to the Hoover at 11:30, but that was over three hours away. They decided their best course of action would be to retreat to Dr. Brennan's office, and they kept themselves entertained between looking at her ancient skulls and making up stories about how those brave tribal soldiers had died. It was silly and just what they needed, as unbeknownst to them, Hazel and Ricky were being cornered by Booth and Brennan in an interrogation room across the city.

The couple entered the room, and saw who they had originally thought of as an innocent woman and her husband sitting across from them. Neither Booth nor Brennan had time to dwell on their first impressions though, as they quickly and directly got to work.

"Do you want to explain why we found two malnourished foster boys in Chase's closet, _Ricky_?" Booth started immediately, deciding to forgo the formal title of "Mr. Gregory" from the get-go. This man didn't deserve Booth's respect.

"That's where they liked to hide out," Hazel interjected instantly, and Booth held up a hand to silence her. Ricky responded quickly, "She's right. They were weird kids. Didn't wanna be around anybody. Didn't wanna socialize or be part of the family that cared enough to take them in. They hid there."

"Right, and that explains why the closet was locked from the outside," Booth stated coldly.

"So, you see how this looks, right?" Brennan began her own line of questioning. "We have a dead teenager, and two who were not far behind him had their abuse continued," she highlighted the word 'abuse.' "Now, we're left only with two scenarios."

They stared dumbly back at her, then Ricky's dry mouth broke into a sly smile and he beckoned her with his finger. "Well then, pretty girl, if you're so smart, why don't you just tell us?"

Booth's eyes could have rolled to the back of his head when he heard the suspect in front of him refer to his wife as a 'pretty girl,' but he was used to revolting remarks being made about his wife, and was able to restrain himself from lunging at him. Brennan, however, was not in the mood today. She stood slowly from the table and cracked the same sinister smile back at the man, and supported her weight on the table via her arms. She was looming over him, and while he didn't back down, Hazel certainly did. She scrunched into her seat and pulled Ricky's right arm back towards her, but he shook her off and continued to stare Brennan down.

"Scenario number one: You just aren't cut out to be a parent, much less a foster parent. Those two little boys – James and Lance – remember them? They were too much for you. You wanted to send them back to the state, but you would be under major scrutiny for that. If your own son is dead, though, you've got an excuse to take a break, an excuse to get rid of them." He never broke eye contact with Brennan.

"Chase was murdered by a baseball. This brings us to scenario number two: you were aiming for James and Lance, and you missed, or Chase jumped in the way, or any other number of reasons. You killed your biological son in an effort to kill a foster son."

Ricky seemed unfazed, but Hazel was not. "Ricky?" she cried out, "Is that true? Did you do that?"

"Where were you sixteen days ago?"

"How in God's name am I supposed to know that? I'm an important man with an important job. I can't remember ridiculous details from over two weeks ago," he rolled his eyes, and Booth stood up.

"I highly suggest you sort out those details. Until then, we'll be holding you both on the basis that you have motive and no alibi."

At that, Booth and Brennan stood and prepared to leave the room. That was until Ricky called after them, "Those boys were a pain in my ass. I was looking to get rid of them, but not by killing anybody. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, especially not Chase. I loved my own boy."

Brennan whipped around in an instant, her dark locks following behind the sharp turn of her neck and her face turning red, yet her voice holding steady. "You didn't want to hurt anybody? Is that why you starved them both? Is that why you beat them to near-death?"

The tortured look in Dr. Brennan's eye must have finally set him straight, as he didn't answer with a snarky comment this time. No, this time, he just sat, unsure of what to say. "That's not true," he finally choked out. "They did that to themselves. Boys roughhouse and neither of 'em would ever eat." It was a dead lie, and Brennan knew it. She thought of those scared, shaking kids locked in a closet, frightened of her. She thought of how Lance cried, and how James tried to reassure him despite his own fear. She thought of her own time locked in a trunk, and under a foster father, and the boys' innate fear of adult men. She thought of the weariness in James' voice as he volunteered to go first when Cam had to give them a physical, but more than anything, she thought of Lance screaming when Cam reached the end of the exam, and she thought of the notes in Cam's chart that told of a "history of sexual abuse, evidence indicating it began approximately three years ago," and "based on tearing, a violent rape occurring within the last five to seven days." Brennan's anger bubbled up in her throat like vomit, but she pushed it down to make room for words.

"Is that why you raped the little one?"

The room stopped. Booth's mouth opened in a silent scream at the new information and he felt tears begging to fall from his eyes, but he held them in. Hazel looked appalled and disgusted and disillusioned – the man she'd married was a child abuser and he'd turned her into one. Ricky, though, knew the position he was in now. The malnutrition, the bruises, those could be lied about, covered up nicely and neatly, no convictions necessary. The sex, though – not a rape, just ask Lance – would be inexcusable in the eyes of any judge, jury, or executioner. It could not be covered up. It could not be blamed on someone else. The room was spinning wildly for him, as he tried to think of anyone else who could have done it, but he couldn't blame it on Chase, and him and James, they had a deal. So, what do you do when you've dug a hole so deep there isn't a rope long enough to reach you? What do you do when you've created such a mess there's nowhere to starting cleaning it up? What do you do in a situation so bad it could never possibly be okay again?

You take it in stride. That's what he did. That fucking smile reappeared on his face, and his teeth glistened when he allowed them to show through his lips.

"It's not rape if you like it."

And then the room was spiraling out of control. Hazel passed out, and Brennan flew across the room to grab him in a chokehold and send a bony knee directly into his groin. He was doubled over in pain and that, coupled with a slow reaction time, gave Brennan an opportunity to bring her elbow down on his spine and send him to floor. Booth had been too stunned by what Brennan had said to stop her from her attack, but now, he picked her up around the waist and carried her out much like you would a child.

"Jesus Christ, Bones, what was that?" he asked, breathing heavily. He didn't really need to ask that, but it seemed appropriate under the circumstances. They retreated to Booth's office to take a break, but only an hour later, Caroline burst into the room.

" _Cherie_ ," she turned towards Brennan, "you're off this case."

Brennan didn't even protest. She fully expected it, but listened as Caroline launched into lecture anyway. Her objections only began as Caroline explained that she would be required to complete mandatory counselling before she was allowed to resume work on cases.

"What? No. That will not be necessary. I reacted as anyone under the circumstances would have. No need to analyze that behavior."

"Cherie, that man, as disgusting as he is, is still on the floor _and_ is promising to press charges. Mandatory counselling is the best compromise I could come to, seeing as they wanted to boot you from your FBI duties for a good six months before you would be eligible for review again." Caroline turned and walked out the door. Brennan turned to Booth, but he sighed apologetically as he stood up.

"I'm not off the case, and somebody has to go question the boys," he explained softly. Brennan looked hurt that he was still going to (unnecessarily, she thought) interrogate James and Lance, but she understood it had to be done. He kissed her forehead as he exited the room, and Brennan leaned back in the seat she'd taken, closing her eyes. Off the case.

After taking a moment in the restroom to splash some cold water on his face, Booth appeared fresh and ready to go again. He made his way back towards the interrogation room and paused, took a deep breath, then walked in. There was no sign of Hazel or Ricky or the aftermath of his last interrogation, but rather the two boys and Beth. He hadn't noticed before, but under the harsh circumstances of this room, Booth realized the social worker seemed just as young as the kids. She couldn't have been older than twenty-four, and had strawberry blonde hair with light skin and pale freckles. Her wire-rimmed glasses, although a tad dorky, fit her round face perfectly. Her light green eyes hiding behind those glasses were tired yet bright, and her nose was too small for her face. She was tall – maybe 5'10" – and carried about twenty pounds more than she needed, but the extra weight made her soft in all the right places. Overall, just her simple appearance of a young mother qualified her to work with troubled kids.

Booth quietly closed the door, and sat down gently across from the trio. Beth clarified her role and gave the agent a stern reminder that he would be questioning young children, and thus, would need to take it down from his usual level of intimidation. Booth promised to comply.

"So, where were you sixteen days ago? That would have been a Monday."

Surprisingly, Lance spoke up, "In the closet." It wasn't the answer Booth wanted, and he was actually rather shocked the boy remembered. Sensing his confusion, James followed up with, "Lance is really smart and has a really good memory. He would know."

"And why were you in the closet?"

James. "Because he put us there."

"How often were you kept there? For how long at a time?"

"It just varied. Whenever we were in trouble. It's been happening a lot this month."

"Why were you in trouble that time?" No response. "I need to know why. It will help us determine the truth of your alibi." James rolled his eyes at the fact that Booth didn't trust him, but finally answered anyway.

"Stealing food."

"Is there any way you can prove that you were in the closet that night?"

"We're skinny," Lance quipped. Booth decided he'd send the FBI techs out to do a better examination of the closet. Maybe they could find evidence.

"What did you steal?" Both boys didn't seem to understand the relevance of the question, and even Beth was about to speak up when James answered. "Um, a package of deli meat. We got it out of the kitchen before he saw it and stuck us in the closet. He never took it away, though."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Chase?" Booth decided to change lines of questioning. The boys both said no. Chase had friends over all the time, and Hazel and Ricky worshipped him.

"How did Chase treat you two?"

James and Lance looked at each other, somewhat unsure of how exactly to answer that. They weren't close with Chase, and he had never tried to stop the abuse that was inflicted upon them, but he was nice to them. He'd certainly never joined in on their punishments. He brought them food sometimes and chatted pleasantly with them and even invited them to go outside or play games with him on occasion. They explained all of this in broken sentences, trading off with each other, trying to accurately describe their relationship with the boy who was now dead. Lance finished their answer with, "We'll miss him." James nodded in agreement.

Booth felt like he'd hit a dead end here. Detecting lies came easily for him, but if these boys were lying, they certainly weren't making it obvious. They seemed genuinely sincere. Booth decided to end the questions here and shook Beth's hand before leaving the room. He retreated to his office expecting to find Bones still waiting for him, but it was empty. He shrugged and sat to do some work. Bones probably just needed time to cool off. She'd call when she was ready.

Bones, however, was not anywhere "taking a chill pill" like Booth had instructed her to do seemingly hundreds of times, and like he'd probably recommend now. No, she was back in her office at the Jeffersonian. She'd explained the situation to her colleagues and left the platform without giving them a second to get in a word edgewise, and was now aggressively online shopping. While online shopping sounded like something only Angela could do aggressively, Brennan was certain that she was doing it now. She scoured the internet for beds with dimensions that would fit her guest room and age-appropriate clothes that wouldn't fall off the boys' bodies. She remained focused at her computer for hours focusing on one thing: James and Lance's comfort. She was determined those boys were coming home to live with her permanently.

On the forensic platform, Cam was with Wendell as he stared Chase's bones down yet again. Without his usual mentor there, he felt as though the case rested on his shoulders and knew he couldn't make a mistake. That's when he discovered it – staining to the inside of the cranium. The baseball had caused bone bruising, but this was blood, and more than it should have been.

"Oh my God," he said, and his eyes got wide. Cam, broken from her daze, snapped to attention. Before he explained to her, he took another look at the fracturing from the impact of the ball, and nearly dropped the skull as all the pieces of the puzzle came together.

"The baseball didn't really kill him. He had a clot in his brain – it wasn't causing problems yet – but whoever threw the ball hit the clot square on. It dislodged and caused a massive stroke." Cam checked his findings, but the results were conclusive: This was cause of death.

"It wouldn't have taken much force, but the fracturing shows that the ball was angled downwards, which means it was thrown by someone was slightly taller than him." Then, a smile. "Those kids couldn't have done this."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**

 **Warnings: Mentions of abuse**

" _Those kids couldn't have done this."_

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Angela as she bounded up the forensic platform, swiping her card along the way. "Did I just hear that correctly?"

Wendell grinned, and reassured her, "Yes, you did. Neither one of them is tall enough to have thrown the ball that caused his stroke and ultimately killed them," then Cam butted in, "Of course, we'll have you run some scenarios with the kids standing on different objects in the room just to be sure, but we're fairly confident in our results here."

"I am so glad to hear that! I never thought, even for a second, those little kids did something as awful as this. We have to tell Brennan!" Angela gushed excitedly, before her smile was cleanly swept away by the news that Brennan had been removed from the case.

"Well, fine," the artist finally said, with determination gracing her petite features. "I'll go work on proving it wasn't them. With that, she turned on her heel and ambled down the steps and into her office. Once inside, she pulled out her phone to tell Booth she would be needing the heights of all the objects in the boys' room, then snapped it shut to begin her scenarios with the crime scene photos she already had.

Across the city at the Hoover building, Booth quickly set to work rounding up FBI techs to head to the Gregory's home to take more detailed photos and measurements for Angela, but decided it may be best for him to accompany them there. Without Bones being allowed to do her regular fieldwork, and with the kids who were staying in his home now being nearly taken off the suspect list, he felt a personal responsibility to make sure things were done absolutely right on this case. With his decision made, the agent left the building right behind his techs.

Unaware of the newfound discovery and beginning to go stir-crazy from the lack of work, Bones paced her office, unsure of what to do. The amount of online shopping she'd done would require less-fortunate families to take out a second mortgage, her scientific research bored her when she knew she couldn't apply it to this case, and she was beginning to wear tracks in the carpeting she'd been stomping on for nearly an hour. Still, despite the restraints placed on her, she knew she wanted to help the boys in any capacity she could, so she returned to her seat at the computer to research methods for healing abused children (unfortunately, one of the only answers being therapy,) but thankfully, the other option being to provide support, love, and security. So, with her mind perhaps not in its sharpest state, she vowed to do just that and searched for adoption practices in Washington, D.C.

Everybody on (and off) the case seemed to be buzzing with a frantic air, knowing that each piece of their puzzle put in place would work towards finally ending James and Lance's connection with the Gregory family for good. However, the two people who mattered most in this case were nowhere to be found, with no updates given to them, with nobody having any clue of what they were doing: James and Lance themselves.

The FBI techs, followed by Booth, were finally arriving on scene and entered the house with no resistance, seeing as both the Gregory's were being held in custody. The techs quickly swept up the steps towards Chase's room and the foster boys' closet, and took enough photos of the room to rival the average day of the paparazzi. Booth, however, slipped into the closet where the two children his wife had fallen in love with had been held captive. Despite the presence of law enforcement workers being right outside the door, this little prison still had a haunting aura about it. The inside doorknob and surrounding area was dressed in scratches, and the carpeting in the corner as far away as possible from where James and Lance were found was stained and gave off a foul odor – a strong, however frightening indication the boys had not even been let out even to use the restroom. Despite the stench, Booth took a deep breath and felt a couple of tears stinging in his eyes when he noted the empty deli meat container James had told him about, and saw the expiration date was set for two days before the murder had occurred – meaning they'd been so hungry they'd chosen to be stuffed in a closet the size of a handicapped bathroom stall just for a couple of pieces of rotting turkey. Looking past that, he found a ratty, blue blanket with blood staining (which would, of course, be sent to the lab to test who it came from,) but despite his lack of forensic training and with the knowledge that Chase's fatal injury would have caused internal bleeding as opposed to external, Booth was nearly certain the results would confirm that this blood would be that of James and Lance. Having seen enough, Booth finally called in a tech to bag the evidence he found – even if it couldn't be used to solve the murder, it could be used to put James and Lance's abusers away – and when the tech lifted the blanket, that's when they both spotted it: a baseball, covered in the signatures the entire New York Yankees team. Not only did the ball have an incredible monetary value, but now it had an even more important value – it could be responsible for putting a murderer away for good. His tech put it away to be properly catalogued, and having collected all the remaining evidence and measurements from both the closet and the room, the FBI team moved out.

Within moments of them leaving the crime scene, Angela's inbox was flooded with new photos, precise measurements, and hope: Thus far, none of the objects in the room, ranging from the desk, to the chair, to the bed, could have fit the scenario when either James or Lance were placed on top of them. Unfortunately, as she continued onto their other two most likely suspects – Hazel and Ricky Gregory – she quickly found that there was also no feasible way that they could have killed their own son either, as in every application she ran, Ricky was too tall and Hazel the opposite. Now somewhat discouraged that all of their leads had failed, Angela called Booth with the news then retreated to her desk and sank down in her seat, studying her recreations of the murder and trying to figure out where they'd failed.

Despite the fact that Booth and Angela were feeling rather let down, Hodgins was teeming with excitement in his lab. After the new forensic evidence was delivered to him, he set to work first on the baseball, and found traces of an acrylic substance and nail polish on the ball – most likely caused by acrylic nails, which reduced their suspect pool to only women. Still, though, Hazel had been the only female suspect and had since been taken off the list, so they seemed to be back at square one. Desperate and unsure of what else to do, Booth decided to call in James and Lance for one more round of questioning. Although weak, it seemed like their best lead was a teenage girl, perhaps Chase's girlfriend, who may have become angry with Chase during a fight and thrown the ball without the intention of killing him. Hopefully, these two would know something about a girl Chase was seeing.

There was one problem, though: Nobody had seen James or Lance since that morning, and nobody had even realized they'd been missing. Worriedly, Booth pulled out his phone and dialed Bones, who answered before the first ring had even completed.

"What? Is there any update?" she begged, then heard a sigh on the other line.

"Bones, have you seen James or Lance?"

"Did you lose them?"

"No, Bones, I did not lose them. I just don't know where they are."

And the line went dead.

Booth ran his hands through his hair, then stormed out of his office. Within minutes, he had every FBI intern's priority set to searching for James and Lance, and both he and said interns had the entire building covered. With no sign of them, Booth hit the road, deciding to go see if they'd tried to go back to their new home.

Meanwhile, Brennan had called in all of her interns and they'd been all over the Jeffersonian, but had also come up with nothing. Not sure of why the boys would have run – their questioning that morning hadn't been overly distressing – Brennan grabbed her keys and headed out of the Jeffersonian, choosing to set her GPS to the children's center they had previously stayed in. Who knows – maybe they had returned to find their social worker? While it didn't seem likely they'd decide to run back there, it was the best she could think of.

Of course, neither Booth nor Brennan found them in either place.

Then, they thought, _"Where would I have gone?"_

" _I was a lot like Lance… what would I have done?"_

" _I was a lot like James… what would I have done?"_

What neither Booth nor Brennan knew was how much they were like each other.

" _Quiet, intelligent, shy, scared, studious…"_

" _Strong, smart, caring, protecting…"_

And that's how both Brennan's crossover and Booth's SUV ended up at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library. Barely acknowledging each other, both hurried inside and, to the uptight librarian's dismay, flashed their credentials then scoured the library, beginning with the children's section and working their way around the building until they found them in the American History books, both on a soft, burgundy couch, Lance quietly reading a World War II memoir and surprisingly, James curled up on his side, head on Lance's lap, asleep. Despite the brave, protective front he put on most of the time, when sleeping, James looked just as young as the little boy he dedicated himself to caring for. With his skinny frame, edgy jaw, bruised face, and relaxed eyelids, he finally was allowed to be just what he was: An exhausted child.

Quietly, Booth and Brennan walked around to the opposite side of the coffee table at which the boys were sitting.

So as not to scare him, Brennan asked gently, "Lance?" Having not even noticed them yet, his head popped up and he nearly dropped his book, then caught his wild actions when he seemed to remember James was still asleep on his lap. He stilled immediately, then once sure James would remain asleep, he stared back at Booth and Brennan.

"Hey, buddy," Booth began, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He appeared to be speaking quite honestly.

"Then why'd you run? Did something happen?"

"No."

"Well then… why?"

Lance gestured to his lap so as to say, 'duh.' Booth, still confused, just scrunched up his face in response.

Having realized he may have been a tad disrespectful and not wanting to learn the consequences of that, Lance sucked in a deep breath and responded more plainly, "Look at him. He's so tired. It's quiet here."

Both husband and wife immediately understood his point. Booth remembered being the protector in his family – of himself, his mom, and Jared – and wishing so hard sometimes for some peace and quiet. When his mother went to work or his brother was at football practice, he himself would run off to the school's playground when it was deserted after school, or to the baseball dugouts after games. Brennan herself had this same habit, as after bad days with foster parents, she was known to escape to half-price bookstores to look at thrift titles she still couldn't afford.

"Listen, Lance, there was a development made in your case today," Booth opened, and earned a hard look from Dr. Brennan. "You two are no longer suspects. Your alibi checked out, and there's no way either of you could have created the injury that killed Chase. We know you didn't do it."

Lance seemed to visibly relax at his words, and even gave a small smile to the sleeping figure below him. Then, though, he looked back at Booth and studied the older man's features.

"But what?"

Booth breathed out heavily. Of course, Lance would know there was still a string attached. So, he decided to come out with it, not to beat around the bush. "Well… we still need you guys for one more round of questions."

"Why? We didn't do it. We don't know anything."

"Because, we think you guys would be the best ones to possibly know about a new lead we have. You guys could help us solve the murder. We need you," Booth spoke persuasively in a calm, soothing voice, and it worked – Lance relented, but asked, "Could we wait until he wakes up? Please? He's so tired."

"Here, Lance," Booth put a hand on James' shoulder, and the other under his knees, then noticed Lance tense up. He dropped his hands immediately, suddenly remembering what Bones had revealed in the interrogation room that Lance had been through with the last adult male in his life. "Lance," he tried again, despite the wary look in the little boy's eye, "I don't want that from either of you. I just want to carry your big brother back, so he won't wake up, so you won't have to worry. Let me take care of you both. You're both what matters."

Lance's features were subdued and downcast, and he didn't even look up when he whispered tearfully, "But he took care of me. It's my turn to take care of him, not yours."

Brennan interjected here, "Lance, it's okay to want to take care of your brother. But the best way for you to do that right now is to let us help you two. Let Booth, okay?"

Lance nodded and leaned back into the couch cushions, but still took in a sharp, shuddering intake of air when Booth replaced his hands under James' back and legs. However, Lance's anxiety dissipated when he saw how gently the agent cradled his big brother in his strong arms. He looked and acted like he was holding a baby the way he shushed James' whimper, and then carefully beckoned Lance to follow him. With that, all four exited the library and retreated to Booth's car where Brennan left them, knowing full well and uncharacteristically understanding that she wouldn't be able to accompany them to the interrogation room. She retreated to her own vehicle and started the drive back to the Jeffersonian, all the while consumed with the comforting thought of her husband's strength, patience, and love of the two boys who've made themselves such an important part of her life so quickly.

In the FBI issued vehicle heading the opposite way, James was still napping soundly, Lance watching over him carefully, and Booth on the phone with Beth to inform her that she would be needed at the Bureau one last time. She promised to head their way immediately, and Booth hung up the phone, grateful that their social worker was being so cooperative as opposed to defensive. He'd dealt with enough social workers and court-appointed lawyers in his time to know that some of them were so difficult to work with they'd earned an obstruction of justice charge, so Beth was a welcome change in his usual routine. With the work of this ride done, Booth now focused his attention on the little guy sitting pensively in his backseat.

"Lance," he said, then continued once the curly-headed kid looked up, "You know, that was a brave thing you did to take James somewhere you could take care of him. I'm proud of you for being there for him." Lance just grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

Booth, slightly discouraged, continued on anyway. "And I know that, uh, you want to take care of him like he has for you. I haven't talked to either of you enough yet to know what all you've been through… but your bond is so obvious. You're each other's rock, and that's really admirable. You both took hits – literal and metaphorical – for each other. There are blood brothers who don't do things like that for one another. So, I guess what I'm saying is that… you should just know, you've done as much for him as he has for you."

The eleven-year-old was silent again save for a sniffle that escaped his nose. Booth inwardly groaned as he upset the kid yet again, but was surprised when Lance croaked out, "You really mean that?"

"Yeah, buddy, I do. I know it'll to take you awhile to believe me, but I do. But just as importantly, and I know that it'll take you awhile to believe this, too, but just know that that's not necessary anymore. You don't have to be, um, abused for each other ever again. I know it must be scary coming to stay with us, we're people you don't know and have no reason to trust, but I promise you're never going to have to feel so afraid and lonely again." Booth's sentences were choppy but the words in them were sincere. He never wanted James and Lance to have to feel the way they'd spent the entirety of their combined 24 years again.

Throughout Booth's whole speech, Lance had sat solemnly in his seat, trying to absorb everything this strange, new man had told him – and ultimately believing him. The entire situation thus far had been incredibly overwhelming, but had made him feel safer and more loved than he had in months, perhaps year. A few tears slid out of his eyes, and unbeknownst to him, the same happened to James, who'd woken up sometime in the middle of Lance and Booth's conversation.

Before either boy could respond to Booth, the car stopped as they'd arrived at the Hoover. After Lance "woke up" James, who faked a sleepy yawn and a groggy "where are we?" the pair followed their new, less threatening foster father back into the interrogation room, where they met a chipper Beth. She gave both boys a friendly grin and a kiss on the cheek before taking a seat at the table in between them – weird, she normally sat on Lance's left side, with him in the middle and James on the far right. Beth asked the kids how they were doing, commented on the lethargy that had snuck into James' appearance – "good morning, sleepyhead!" – and then snaked her arms around the kids' shoulders to hug them close one more time before the questions started.

That was when Booth noticed it.

Unnaturally long, pink nails decorated her agile fingers.

"Excuse me, Beth, kids, I need to make a call."

He exited the interrogation room and pulled out his phone, dialing the number of one person he could trust to tell him all he needed to know about acrylic nails: Angela Montenegro. Once she received the call, she was at the Hoover within minutes – shocked at who their killer was, grateful for the fact that _she_ , a mere _artist_ , would be the one to help Booth make his arrest today. She walked confidently through the door Booth held open for her that led into the interrogation room, and waved a sweet hello to the boys and stuck out her hand to greet Beth.

"Hello," she crooned pleasantly, "It's so nice to meet you. My name is Angela, and I'm an artist with the Jeffersonian and FBI. I'm here to draw a sketch of anyone that the boys may be able to describe to me." Angela clasped Beth's hand in her own, and exclaimed, "Oh! How beautiful your nails are! I love them," and Beth responded with a warm thank you.

"Huh," Angela stopped, "it looks like they need filled, though. The polish starts a quarter of the way up your nail! It's almost like you got them done… what, about two and a half weeks ago?"

Beth had no idea what Angela was implying, but just shrugged and said, "Oh, I suppose that's about it. It's probably time for a trip to my nail salon." She giggled, but stopped when she saw Angela's look grow accusing.

"I think so too. Man, it's been awhile since these have been done! Maybe since just a couple of hours before you murdered Chase Gregory?"

Both boys looked horrified, and they stared at their advocate with wide eyes. Booth called to have both children ushered out, but when the agent came to do so within seconds, James began to cry and holler at Beth.

"You… you promised you were here to protect us! To take care of us and all your other kids but, but you were no better than that family was! You killed Chase, he didn't do anything to you! Look at what you did!" he wailed as he gestured to him and Lance, who'd now lost the only person who'd consistently cared for them, even though she'd failed sometimes, over the last few years. The agent took both kids gently out of the room, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Beth opened her mouth in immediate protest, but Booth just held up a hand. "Beth, save it. There were traces of an acrylic powder and nail polish found on the ball that killed Chase, and one call to your regular salon will prove that you had a nail appointment early on the day that you murdered Chase. This will go a lot better for you if you just cooperate and confess what we know you did."

Likely out of desperation, she began the line Booth had heard so many times throughout his career. "It was an accident!"

Angela interrupted dryly, using finger quotes to drive her point home, "You know, I, for one, would like to know why everyone who says it was 'just an accident' doesn't just call the cops right after they 'accidentally' kill someone? I mean, you've got a chance to save the person and maybe even your name, but instead, you all just drag the body to the woods and say you 'panicked.' It makes no sense."

"No," Beth was begging now, "It really was an accident! Listen, I, I haven't been a social worker for that long. And I've obviously failed. But before these boys, I've never had an abuse case before. And when they showed the signs, instead of telling someone who could handle the situation better than I could, I just went into mama bear mode and thought I could stop the abuse myself. So, listen, I went over to the Gregory's house to talk to James and Lance about exactly what was happening and to confront Hazel and Ricky. But neither of the adults were there, and James and Lance were nowhere to be found, but Chase was. And I know it was wrong, but I confronted _him_ , even though yes, I know, he's just a child, too. But he wasn't being abused, and when I asked him what was going on, he confessed that he knew his parents were abusing the foster kids but didn't tell anyone and didn't try to stop it – God, he was just a scared kid, he didn't know what to do – I just got so angry that he was unscathed and that my kids were being hurt. I-I blacked out for a second, really, and in that second, I just grabbed the baseball sitting in one of those souvenir stands off his dresser, and I threw it, and I didn't mean to hit him. But it did, it hit him square on and he just dropped."

Voice hard and emotionless, Booth asked, "And how did he get to the forest, then?"

Beth was crying and shaking as she looked up to answer him. "I panicked," she finally admitted.

Having finally got his full confession, Booth took Angela by the hand and said, "Well, I think we got all we needed to here," and he felt guilty, because she was young, and inexperienced, and sorry, but he added anyway, "I hope you know you failed three children today. Just by being in that environment, Chase was experiencing mental abuse you could never understand. He needed out, too."

 **Sorry about the delay – I have been on vacation and working, but hope to be back on a predictable schedule with the next chapter. Please leave thoughtful reviews – they are so motivating and really make me want to write.**

 **I have big plans for these boys – expect a rather long story. See you soon!**


End file.
